Back, Mac

Something has been knocking 

at the door of my mind, trying to get out.

Not really a poem, not really prose.

I propose, I suppose.

Sometimes I feel like a piece of flotsam

washed along on humanity's tide.

As if a clever bit of writing will save me.

Fuck that.

If you're lucky in love you'll diverge 

in a few glorious eddies

Oh, but caught up in kissing 

drop Charon's coin.

So many different people, so many different lives.

I want to snatch a piece of what they're having.

Maybe I'm greedy.

Maybe I'm starved.

I'm a fan of experience.

I experienced forceps, 

forcibly forced

into the world before my time.

I seek to go back 

pick up those lessons I missed

so I can go forward 

and not fall.

Watch me, see me? 

Monitor me

hanging off this open door

while you eat your Apple, Mac.

Now watch me fall, forwards

fall for you...

Catch me, 

are you ready?

What if you know you're in the wrong place

and time's made of you a laughing-stock?

Life's a waiting game.

Games are fun?

Feels like I've been asleep 
100 years waiting on 
Prince Charming's kiss.
I want-can't-wait to feel it.

Careering around corners 

windows down, trying not to feel.

Wicker basket, 

fried chicken in the back.

© Jennifer Phillips (All rights reserved)

La barca de Caront, Josep Benlliure Gil, Museu de Belles Arts de València